my cough a rattling drizzle, and I felt pretty miserable until I got the cannula back into place.
Even then, it hurt. The pain was always there, pulling me inside of myself, demanding to be felt.
It always felt like I was waking up from the pain when something in the world outside of me suddenly required my comment or attention.
Mom was looking at me, concerned. She’d just said something. What had she just said? Then I remembered. She’d asked what was wrong.
“Nothing,” I said. “Amsterdam!” she half shouted. I smiled. “Amsterdam,” I answered. She reached her hand down to me and pulled me up.
We got to the gate an hour before our scheduled boarding time.
“Mrs. Lancaster, you are an impressively punctual person,” Augustus said as he sat down next to me in the mostly empty gate area.
“Well, it helps that I am not technically very busy,” she said. “You’re plenty busy,” I told her,
although it occurred to me that Mom’s business was mostly me.
There was also the business of being married to my dad—he was kind of clueless about, like, banking
and hiring plumbers and cooking and doing things other than working for Morris Property, Inc.—but it was mostly me.
Her primary reason for living and my primary reason for living were awfully entangled.
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